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Ian Fleming's James Bond
in
My Man in Havana
I sat at a seasoned table on the balcony of “La Mina”. In front of me set a fuchsia-colored cocktail - two ounces of dark rum, grapefruit juice, lime juice, and crushed ice – a perfect start to the day. In my right hand, I held a cigar; the smoke from it billowed as it met the warm, Cuban air.
From above, I gazed at locals as they went about their daily lives. As I spotted a man chasing after an estranged dog, I wondered if my mission would be as pointless as his. Another gulp of the cold liquid sank to the bottom of my stomach as I smirked at the sight. Checking the dial of my Rolex, I finished my drink, and flicked the stub of my expired cigar over the balcony railing. Adjusting my white dress shirt, and wiping the stray ash from my black trousers, I moved down the narrow stairway of “La Mina” to pay for the quality service.
The Cold War was beginning to heat up between the Americans and the Communists. Fidel Castro had also claimed Cuba as his own, and our intel told us that he was getting friendly with the Russians. I wasn’t in Cuba on Britain’s time, though; M had put me on loan to the Americans as another branch of Mi6 tip-toed around Russia, trying to gather whatever information that they could.
Naturally, my man in Havana was Felix Leiter; probably the only American that I fully trusted. As I walked down the street from “La Mina”, I spotted him near a black sedan. The Americans were never creative when it came to business – black sedans, black suits, black hats. Leiter didn’t exactly blend in well with the locals who were sporting colorful, floral-patterned shirts, riding bikes, or walking around. Perhaps a disguise wasn’t exactly necessary for this mission, though. As I approached him, he simply said, “Just on time, 007. Let’s go.”
As we sat in the back of the automobile, I pulled out a silver case from my shirt pocket, and removed a cigarette. Lighting it, I offered one to Felix. After he removed his hat and wiped the accumulation of sweat off from his brow with his suit’s sleeve, he accepted my offer.
During the ride around Havana, Felix had explained the situation to me - the Russians were going to purchase the services a nuclear scientist named Santovo Reydel. The CIA wanted a slice of the pie, though. Intelligence reported that the scientist would be arriving at Gusto’s café, a few miles away from “La Mina”. Here, the Russians would pay him off, and ship him off to Russia, to work on projects unknown. The CIA was there to offer him double the amount that Russia offered, along with a care-free living in the United States.
I stepped out of the car in front of Gusto’s café. Felix placed his hat back on top of his head, and sternly looked at me. I could tell that he meant business.
“You wait out here, Bond. If we need you, we’ll call you. And if you see anything out-of-the-ordinary, be sure to let us know.”
“Will do,” I replied, taking out another cigarette.
Felix and his two fellow CIA agents moved into the small joint, as I leaned against the warm exterior of the sedan. I scoped out the area around me, casually, while I lit my cigarette. I wasn’t going to just stand out there and wait; the Americans bumping their heads with the Russians never resulted in a positive outcome.
Walking around the side of the café, I spotted a rusty, deteriorating fire escape ladder. Climbing it, as the cigarette hung out of my mouth, I continued to glance around the general area, just in case. When I reached the roof, I knelt down, moving toward a skylight. Resting my arm against the dingy glass, I spotted Leiter and the other Americans below. A balding, middle-aged Cuban man stood at the bar, while a couple of patrons sat at nearby tables. Leiter approached the man sitting closest to the bar.
]I went to the ledge, just to see if the Russians were approaching. There wasn’t a car in sight. A few children played across the street with a baseball and mit, while a couple of women were walking, holding large baskets in their arms. Cuba’s an overall peaceful place; it’s a shame that the Americans and the Communists have to interfere. As I flicked my cigarette down towards the sedan, I noticed Leiter and his men immediately below me. Watching the cigarette butt rebound off the pavement, he took his hat off to keep the sun out of his eyes, and looked up towards me. I gave a subtle wave, and began to make my way back down.
The Americans had already loaded back into the automobile by the time I had crossed the corner of Gusto’s. When I entered, the driver immediately spun off.
“They nabbed him before we could, James.”
“Seems like your information was a bit off, then.”
“Yes, it was. Something we can’t afford to have happen these days.”
“Well, Felix. There’s not much you can do about it,” I replied, as I patted him on the shoulder. “But, we’re in Havana, on a beautiful summer day. We might as well make the best of it. Let’s head back to “La Mina”, shall we?”